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Archive for February, 2013

Send In the Crows
by Job Conger

Neighborhood birds
Sang in the trees:
Larks, robins, sparrows and bold chickadees.
Send in the crows.
Send in the crows.

Creatures of flight
Soared far and wide.
As I rejoiced down below, I was not satisfied.
Send in the crows.
There have to be crows.

(refrain)
After I freed my cockateel,
Sensing how bitter, depressed and confused he must feel,
I turned my eyes to the rainbow of unfettered souls:
Prim Cardinals, bright Orioles.

But I’ve never cared
For pigeons who thrive,
Leaving their droppings all over my sidewalk and drive.
Send in the crows.
Send in the crows.

Braggarts in black,
Big as a swan,
Chase all the fat flying poop-wings to hither . . . .and yon.
Send in the crows.
Send in the crows.

In quietude
Of wintery new year
All of the tunesters are gone; walk and driveway are clear.
Send in the crows.
Send in the crows.
Don’t bother. They’re here.

written January 22, 1997
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This was written after my far more popular parody Send In the Cows, both based on the Stephen Sondheim song Send In the Clowns. On a dreary Sunday afternoon, the words made more of a positive impression on me than usual. I hope they work as well with you. 🙂

Live long . . . . . . . and proper.

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I’ve discovered that at least one poet, namely me, recuperating from surgery that re-attached tendons ripped from his kneecaps 1-13-13, experiences time on a scale somewhere between “dog minutes” and “people minutes,” a microcosm of dog years and people years. I am keeping people I know better-informed about my progress at Facebook. If you care to read more about me, please visit Facebook and ask me (Job Conger, Springfield, Illinois) to become your Facebook friend. MESSAGE me on Facebook that you read Honey & Quinine so I will know who’s asking.

Except for one Wednesday night at the hospital when I was sitting in a nearby, vacant “dining room” where patients and staff gather informally during mealtimes, and I wrote the song (lyrics shared in previous H&Q post here) with a little help from my guitar, my days here at home have not brought the inspiration to write about this totally unforeseen circumstance. I intend to make time for writing poetry/song in the week ahead. I am open to creating about anything; not just legs in full-extension braces and my craving for cookies here. I may write about the early morning sun warming my office at daybreak, early morning encounters with 50s and 50s TV programs on Chanel 55, proofreading a friend’s new novel about Springfield during our mutual and concurrent early youth in this city. Obviously, I’m not short on inspiration; I’m just short on time to focus. I can almost “hear” readers mumbling, “What else is Conger doing with his time all day?”  Patience. I will fill in the blanks in my  next post.

In the meantime, please do consider seeking me out of Facebook and “following” Honey  &  Quinine if you’re not already. Thanks for reading this ramble.

Live long . . . . . . . and proper.

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